I’m a retired cop. I know what wearing the uniform asks of those who serve. I’ve held the hands of overwhelmed officers, comforted bereaved spouses, and felt my own heart break. I was with the Denver Police Department for 25 years, later with the New York City Police Department as Deputy Commissioner of Training and then Deputy Commissioner of Equity and Inclusion. But you don’t need all that experience to know American policing is in crisis; just read the headlines out of Uvalde, Chicago, the nation’s capital, or frankly anywhere else.
The struggles confronting law enforcement now are rooted in the failure to address the same struggles in the past: a culture of rigid masculinity that precludes asking for help, doesn’t allow officers to sufficiently listen to communities’ concerns, allows historical bigotries to flourish internally and fails to acknowledge the toll it all takes on officers, particularly the Black men and even more so the Black women who choose to serve.
Thirty years ago, we were told we had a choice: Suck it up — or get a different job. New traumas were layered on top of those we already carried from a lifetime of living with those bigotries — not just the fact that we were first responders, with front-row seats at some of humanity’s ugliest moments, but also the contempt with which we were often met, from those we served alongside as well as those we served. Knowing that today’s Black, Brown, or female officers say that the uniform still comes with overt sexism and racism fills me with great sadness.
These unacknowledged traumas, widespread burnout, and the Great Resignation have left departments understaffed, even as they face rising line-of-duty deaths and suicide rates. Everyone’s working longer shifts, getting fewer days off, and — if they’re Black or Brown — met with microaggressions and outright racism before they even leave the precinct — witness the reports of offensive texts, recordings and worse.
I know many people, not least in Black and Brown communities, have run out of empathy for law enforcement; after the killings of Elijah McClain, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Jayland Walker, and so many others, I understand why. Officers who engage in criminal behaviors and fail the communities they serve must be held accountable. I’m concerned, though, for the officers left behind, those trying to do the right thing, for whom the protests and uprisings of 2020 hit painfully close to home. They’re at a breaking point.
We’ve begun, at least, to have some kind of language around it: We talk about “wellness” and the need for “support.” Some in leadership have been held accountable for hostile work environments; some cities have begun to address the structural racism that impedes careers and leads to disparate policing outcomes. Until these efforts go deeper, though, and address the full complexity of public safety — including but going far beyond law enforcement — they’ll be little more than lip service.
Take the sudden mushrooming of “wellness programs.” Are they appropriately funded? Are they inclusive? Are officers given the time, space, and respect necessary to access these programs without stigma? If leadership can find millions for equipment upgrades but can’t scrape together enough for support programming that meets the diverse needs of a diverse force, they’ll continue to face crises of hiring, retention, and community trust. If police leadership, politicians, or anyone else is interested in “backing the blue,” they should start by prioritizing the health and wellbeing of the people wearing that blue.
While still serving with the Denver Police Department, I co-founded the Center for Policing Equity (CPE); at CPE, we gather data and produce robust analyses to identify and reduce the drivers of racially disparate policing outcomes, our work informed by a deep concern for equity and inclusiveness within policing and between police departments and their communities. We’ve been pioneers in reimagining and redesigning public safety systems and have seen the lasting change such work can produce.
Officers in need of support can contact Shatterproof For First Responders, a treatment resource for substance abuse and mental health issues, and COPLINE, a hotline staffed by retired law enforcement. Agencies seeking to make meaningful change can reach out to CPE, consult with the National Organization of Black Law Enforcement Executives (NOBLE), or seek input from organizations such as Shatterproof and COPLINE. The first step is to recognize the enormity of the problem; from there, concrete, evidence-led plans such as those we’ve conceived at CPE will be a crucial first step on the road to substantial change.
No single organization, program, or agency can do this work on their own. Our public safety crisis requires an all-of-society response, beginning with an acknowledgment of the weight so many officers carry.
Or we could continue to ignore it. But know that whenever an officer shows up for their shift, whether they’re fully present or struggling, trauma shows up, too. Continuing to pretend otherwise will do little but create opportunities for disaster.
Dr. Tracie L. Keesee is senior vice president of Justice Initiatives and co-founder of the Center For Policing Equity; she served for 25 years in the Denver Police Department and subsequently served as New York City Police Department’s deputy commissioner of training and deputy commissioner of equity and inclusion.